Mercy's Reward
by Carthaki Empress
Summary: Aragorn adopts a young Gondorian street rat and she refuses to let him go on the quest without her.
1. Prologue: Outside of Celothia

A/N: I WOULD LIKE TO THANK MY BETA, SORCERESS OF ROHAN. She helped me so much with this story.  
  
This is the prologue to a story that has been in my head for quite a while now. I actually have basically the whole plot developed, so it shouldn't take as long for me to update as it does for the Steel in her Eyes. Hopefully, I'll be able to juggle two stories at once.  
  
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I own Serni (the person, not the river), and Celothia, and the River Thiolan. As of now, that is it. Read and review please!  
  
Here we go!  
  
Aragorn surveyed his surroundings. He stood in a small clearing of the forest that covered parts of the White Mountains and extended below. He held up a hand, halting his companion.  
  
"We rest here tonight, Halbarad."  
  
"Why," he asked. "This is near the edge of the forest. Just a league south is Celothia. We can stay in an inn there."  
  
"Long has it been since Celothia was a thriving port city. When the river Thiolan dried up, the town did also. It is now a rats' warren, a place for thieves and prostitutes. We would lose every belonging without realizing it was gone until we were leagues away."  
  
"Ah." Halbarad lay out his bedroll, and commenced collecting twigs for a small fire. "I stayed there twenty years ago, when the river had just dried up. I remember hungry faces, but not to the extent you describe."  
  
Aragorn lit the fire and roasted a small rabbit they had found earlier over it. They two men sat eating contentedly until Halbarad spoke.  
  
"I will take the first watch. You go to sleep." Aragorn nodded and curled up inside of his bedroll.  
  
Bulbous green eyes looked on from above. A young girl quietly climbed down the tree she was in. She crept through the bushes, taking careful care not to be heard. Her hair was matted with twigs and brush, and she wore men's clothing without shoes.  
  
She came upon the Rangers' camp. Inspecting the scene before her, she quickly located the bags which the food would be stored in. Just as she was about to take a step forward, she heard a yawn and paused. She looked around once more and spotted a head of brown hair where Halbarad leaned against a tree, facing the other way. She quietly snuck in, carefully stepping over the sleeping man's body.  
  
She reached out, and just as her hand was on the food, another hand smacked hers. The child gulped as she felt a knife at her throat.  
  
Aragorn woke with a start to the sound of struggling and muffled yells. He saw Halbarad tightly holding a child against him, a knife at her throat. Barely any of her face showed behind a mask of leaves and dirt.  
  
"Halbarad, put the knife down. It's a little girl." He knelt so that he faced her eye to eye. "Child, what is your name?" She spat on his cheek. Halbarad shook her roughly.  
  
Aragorn gently took her from his grasp and pressed on her shoulders until her knees buckled and she collapsed on the ground. With one swift movement, he pinned her arms beneath her. "Would you like to do this the easy way or the hard way? It makes no difference to me."  
  
She scowled at him. "They call me Quickfingers, mostly."  
  
"A fitting name. Who calls you this?"  
  
"Ev'rybody."  
  
"Well, Quickfingers, do you care to explain why you had you hands in our bags?"  
  
"I wasn't hurtin' nobody. I was just gonna take the food. You can hunt and get more. Me and my gang are starving back home."  
  
"Where are your parents, child?" Halbarad asked.  
  
"Me ma got arrested again two months back. Don't got no pa." There was no remorse or sadness in her tone. She sounded indifferent to the situation. Halbarad and Aragorn exchanged glances over her head.  
  
"I am Aragorn, and this is my companion, Halbarad. Are you from Celothia?" Aragorn inquired.  
  
"Aye."  
  
Halbarad and Aragorn had a hurried whispered conference.  
  
"We cannot let her go back there. She is practically an orphan, and she already thieves."  
  
"Precisely, Aragorn, she thieves. We cannot allow her to come with us."  
  
"She lives in one of the poorest towns in Gondor. Soon she will follow the example of the other women in that village and turn to prostitution in exchange for food. If I can prevent that even in just one child, than I will."  
  
"Look at her. There is no meat on her bones. She's a scrawny piece of bone and flesh. She-" Halbarad broke off abruptly as he snatched a hand out to prevent her from taking their food and running. He once again held her to him, covering her ears with his hands. "One day on the road and she will steal our food and run."  
  
"She'll have no reason to steal our food if we give it to her. If we feed her, she won't run off."  
  
Halbarad relented and released her.  
  
"The first thing we need to do," Aragorn said, "is give you a name. You cannot go by Quickfingers any longer."  
  
"How come? Been doin' fine with it up 'til now. I don't see no reason to change."  
  
"You have been living in the streets. Now, you are traveling with me, and Quickfingers will not work if we have to meet anyone important. I will call you Serni."  
  
"Why should I travel with you? Maybe I don't want to travel with you."  
  
"We have food. If you travel with us, you will not have to steal because you will already have everything you need. Speaking of, we will need to find you a good pair of shoes. And the second thing. You need a bath."  
  
"I do not need a bath. I bathed not a month ago!"  
  
Aragorn swiftly bent down, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder in one fluid movement. He carried her through the forest, ignoring her squirming and protesting. He reached a shallow part of the River Celos and threw her in the water. She rose to the surface sputtering and swearing. He tossed a bar of soap at her. "If you bathe thoroughly and come out clean, we will feed you." He set down his spare change of clothing. "Put these on when you get out, and wash your clothes too."  
  
He walked back to the makeshift camp, leaving Serni to scowl and swear. Halbarad was waiting for him. "Is this wise?" he asked Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn looked at him. "With proper training, she could become a fearsome warrior and a valuable asset. She has spunk enough. I do not know if this is wise. But I do believe it is the right thing to do. My conscience would not be clear if I allowed her to go back to that hellhole."  
  
"Ugly little scrap of a girl, isn't she." There was no question in this sentence; Halbarad said it as one merely giving facts."  
  
"Who could tell behind all that dirt? Once we can see her face, she could be quite beautiful."  
  
"Aragorn," Halbarad paused, as if contemplating his next sentence. "Not that I do not admire that you are taking this child in out of the goodness of your heart..." His voice faded off before he cleared his throat and continued, "But why do you care so much? If the whole town is like that, one girl taken out of poverty does not make up for all the others."  
  
"Maybe not." Aragorn turned and looked at Halbarad, meeting his gaze with his grey eyes. "But if I were to return and rule one day, I want as few unhappy and hungry people in this realm as possible. One person may not make a difference. Or one person may make all the difference."  
  
The two men regarded each in silence until a voice said, "Can I eat now?" Both men jumped slightly and looked down. Unbeknownst to them, Serni had finished bathing and was standing between the two Rangers. Looking her over to make sure she was clean, Aragorn chuckled. The girl had tucked the shirt that hung down to her knees inside of the breeches, which still dragged on the ground, even though she had them pulled up to her chest. Taking off his belt, Aragorn bent down and swiftly looped it around her waist to hold the breeches up. Rising up again, Aragorn motioned for her to eat the food he set out for her. Both men stood agape watching her eat. She stuffed food in her mouth with almost alarming speed and alacrity.  
  
"And the first lesson will without a doubt be manners," Aragorn muttered to Halbarad, who nodded openmouthed. He took advantage of her distraction to carefully appraise her. With the mud off of her face, one could see that her skin was a pale ivory color. Her hair was jet black and reached just below her shoulders. Bulging green eyes contrasted even more sharply a gaunt face. Her prominent cheekbones stood out above hollow cheeks, a mark of long starvation. She was scrawny, and she wore no shoes.  
  
"She will need both shoes and clothes that actually fit." Aragorn nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.  
  
"When we arrive at Pelarg, we will get her both."  
  
"I thought we were going to Minas Tirith."  
  
"You can. I will get the child suitable clothing at Pelarg, but then I will take her to Rivendell to see about her education." 


	2. In the Prancing Pony

A/N: Here's Chapter 2!! If you wanted to hear about Serni and the Elves, sorry but the fic would be way too long with all of that included. We're looking at a good thirty five chapters as it is. There will be more about it, though. I think the best thing I could do is jump to Bree and go back to Celothia, Rivendell, and various journeys later in the story with flashbacks and memories.  
  
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine aside from Serni and the plot variations where she is concerned, and in this chapter, there is very little of either until the end. Also, a lot of this chapter is straight out verbatim from Chapters 9 and 10 in the Fellowship of the Ring. Tolkien owns everything.  
  
"' Few now remember them, ' Tom murmured, 'yet still some go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness guarding from evil things folk that are heedless.'" Tom Bombadil, in the Fellowship of the Ring  
  
Sam followed Frodo into the inn, despite his initial misgivings. He listened with one ear as his gaze traveled around the room, briefly resting on two dark figures in the back of the room. After inspecting the room they would stay in, he went back to the room with Frodo and Pippin, leaving Merry to sit by the fire.  
  
As Frodo introduced himself as Mr. Underhill, they were immediately bombarded with other hobbits sharing the name who insisted they must be related. Sam's awareness drifted from the conversation and to the strange figures in the back listening intently to the hobbit-talk. Frodo followed his gaze during a lull in the conversation, and noticed the same figures.  
  
"Who is that?" Frodo asked, when he got a chance to whisper to Mr. Butterbur. "I don't think you introduced him."  
  
"Him?" said the landlord in an answering whisper, cocking an eye without turning his head. "I don't rightly know. He is one of the wandering fold—Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. What his right name is I've never heard: but he's known round here as Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he don't tell nobody what cause he has to hurry. That with him is called Huntress in these parts. Never spoken in my presence, but she never takes ale, and only drinks the water. He comes for years, and all the sudden he brings her with him once, and now he's never come alone. But there's no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him." Frodo opened his mouth as if to question the last remark, but Mr. Butterbur was called away by a demand for more ale.  
  
Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said. Presently, with a wave of his hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by them. As Frodo drew near the woman kept her head bowed and her hood up, but the man threw back his hood, showing a shaggy head of dark hair flecked with grey, and in a pale stern face a pair of keen grey eyes.  
  
"I am called Strider and she is Huntress" he said in a low voice. "I am very pleased to meet you, Master—Underhill, if old Butterbur got your name right."  
  
"He did," said Frodo stiffly. He felt from comfortable under the stare of those keen eyes.  
  
"Well, Master Underhill," said Strider, "if I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much. Drink, fire, and chance-meeting are pleasant enough, but, well—this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about, though I say it as shouldn't, you may think," he added with a wry smile, seeing Frodo's glance. "And there have been even stranger travelers through Bree lately," he went on, watching Frodo's face.  
  
Strider watched as an annoyed expression crossed Frodo's face, and he rose to put a stop to Pippin's behavior. He regarded Frodo impassively as he made a fool of himself dancing on the table, and he watched him with aggravation as he stupidly put on the Ring, inwardly cursing Butterbur for being so adverse to the idea of Strider conversing with the hobbits. He sat unmoved as he felt Frodo come under the table.  
  
Frodo leaned back against the wall and took off the Ring. How it came to be on his finger he could not tell. He could only suppose that he had been handling it in his pocket while he sang, and that somehow it had slipped on when he stuck out his hand with a jerk to save his fall. For a moment he wondered if the Ring itself had not played him a trick; perhaps it had tried to reveal itself in response to some wish or command that was felt in the room. He did not like the looks of the men that gone out.  
  
"Well?" said Strider, when he reappeared. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said! You have put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger?"  
  
"I don't know what you mean," said Frodo, annoyed and alarmed. He noticed that the woman had left in the course of the time between when he left the table and returned.  
  
"Oh yes, you do," answered Strider, "but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr. Baggins I should like a quiet word with you."  
  
"What about?" asked Frodo, ignoring the sudden use of his proper name.  
  
"A matter of some importance—to us both," answered Strider, looking Frodo in the eye. "You may hear something to your advantage."  
  
"Very well," said Frodo, trying to appear unconcerned. "I'll talk to you later."  
  
Frodo, Pippin, and Sam made their way back to the parlour. There was no light. Merry was not there, and the fire had burned low. It was not until they had puffed up the embers into a blaze and thrown on a couple of faggots that they discovered Strider and Huntress had come with them. There they were calmly sitting in a chair by the door!  
  
"Hallo!" said Pippin. "Who are you, and what do you want?"  
  
"I am called Strider and this is Huntress," he answered: "and though he may have forgotten it, your friend promised to have a quiet talk with me."  
  
"You said I might hear something to my advantage, I believe," said Frodo. "What have you to say?"  
  
"Several things," answered Strider. "But, of course, I have my price."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo sharply.  
  
"Don't be alarmed! I mean just this: I will tell you what I know, and give you some good advice—but I shall want a reward."  
  
"And what will that be, pray?" said Frodo. He suspected now that he had fallen in with a rascal, and he thought uncomfortably that he had brought only a little money with him. All of it would hardly satisfy a rogue, and he could not spare any of it.  
  
"No more than you can afford," answered Strider with a slow smile, as if he guessed Frodo's thoughts. "Just this: you must take my companion and me along with you, until we wish to leave you."  
  
"Oh, indeed!" replied Frodo, surprised, but not much relieved. "Even if I wanted another companion, I should not agree to any such thing, until I knew a good deal more about you, and your business."  
  
"Excellent!" exclaimed Strider, crossing his legs and sitting back comfortably, though his companion still kept her eyes downcast. "You seem to be coming to your senses again, and that is all to the good. You have been much too careless so far. Very well! I will tell you what I know, and leave the reward to you. You may be glad to grant it, when you have heard me."  
  
"Go on then!" said Frodo. "What do you know?"  
  
"Too much; too many dark things," said Strider grimly. "But as for your business—" He got up and went to the door, opened it quickly and looked out. The woman raised her head and watched him, revealing a glimmer of green eyes and pale skin, before she lowered it as he shut it quietly and sat down again. "I have quick ears," he went on, lowering his voice, "and though I cannot disappear, I have hunted many wild and wary things and I can usually avoid being seen if I wish. Now, I was behind the hedge this evening on the Road west of Bree, when four hobbits came out of the Downlands. I need not repeat all that they said to old Bombadil or to one another, but one thing interested me. Please remember, said one of them, that the name of Baggins must not be mentioned. I am Mr. Underhill, if any name must be given." That interested me so much that we followed them here. We slipped over the gate just behind him. Maybe Mr. Baggins has an honest reason for leaving his name behind; but if so, I should advise him and his friends to be more careful."  
  
"I don't see what interest my name had for any one in Bree," said Frodo angrily, "and I have still to learn why it interests you. Mr. Strider may have an honest reason for spying and eavesdropping; but if so, I should advise him to explain it."  
  
The woman, who had been silent until this time laughed. "Very nice, Mr. Baggins," she said, still not raising her face or lowering her hood. "I cannot remember the last time someone threw Strider's words back in his face. I congratulate you."  
  
"Well answered indeed!" said Strider, who was also laughing. "But the explanation is simple: I was looking for a Hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted to find him quickly. I had learned that he was carrying out of the Shire, well, a secret that concerned me and my friends."  
  
"Now, don't mistake me!" he cried, as Frodo rose from his seat, and Sam jumped up with a scowl. "I shall take more care of the secret than you do. And care is needed!" He leaned forward and looked at them. "Watch every shadow!" he said in a low voice. "Black horsemen have passed through Bree. On Monday one came down the Greenway, they say; and another appeared later, coming up the Greenway from the south."  
  
There was a silence. At last Frodo spoke to Pippin and Sam: "I ought to have guessed it from the way the gatekeeper greeted us," he said. "And the landlord seems to have heard something. "Why did he press us to join the company? And why on earth did we behave so foolishly: we ought to have stayed quiet in here."  
  
"It would have been better," said Strider. "I would have stopped your going into the common-room, if I could' but the innkeeper would not let me in to see you, or take a message."  
  
"Do you think he—" began Frodo.  
  
"No, I do not think any harm of old Butterbur. Only he does not like altogether mysterious vagabonds of my sort." Frodo gave him a puzzled look. "Well, I have rather a rascally look, have I not?" said Strider with a curl of his lip and a queer gleam in his eye. "But I hope we shall get to know each other better. When we do, I hope you will explain what happened at the end of your song. For that little prank—"  
  
"It was sheer accident!" interrupted Frodo.  
  
"I wonder," said Strider. "Accident, then. That accident has made your position more dangerous.  
  
"Hardly more than it was already," said Frodo. "I knew these horsemen were pursuing me; but now at any rate they seem to have missed me and to have gone away."  
  
"You must not count on that!" said Strider sharply. "They will return. And more are coming. There are others. I know their number. I know these Riders." He paused, and her eyes were cold and hard. "And there are some folk in Bree who are not to be trusted," he went on. "Bill Ferny, for instance. He has an evil name in the Bree-land and queer folk call at his house. You must have noticed him among the company: I swarthy sneering fellow. He was very close with one of the Southern strangers, and they slipped out together just after your 'accident'. Not all of those Southerners mean well; and as for Ferny, he would sell anything to anybody; or make mischief for amusement."  
  
"What will Ferny sell, and what has my accident got to do with him?" said Frodo, still determined not to understand Strider.  
  
"News of you, of course," answered Strider. "An account of your performance would be very interesting to certain people. After that they would hardly need to be told your real name. It seems to me only too likely that they will hear of it before this night is over. Is that enough? You can do as you like about my reward: take me as a guide or not. But I may say that I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years. I am older than I look. I might prove useful. You will have to leave the open road after tonight; for the horsemen will watch it night and day. You may escape from Bree, and be allowed to go forward while the Sun is up; but you won't go far. They will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do you wish them to find you? They are terrible!"  
  
The hobbits looked at him, and saw with surprise that his face was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to have grown dim. For a while he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.  
  
"There!" he cried after a moment, drawing his hand across his brow. "Perhaps I know more about these pursuers than you do. You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet. Tomorrow you will have to escape, if you can. Strider and Huntress can take you by paths that are seldom trodden. Will you have them?"  
  
"There was a heavy silence. Frodo made no answer, his mind was confused with doubt and fear. Sam frowned, and looked and his master; and at last he broke out:  
  
"With your leave, Mr. Frodo, I'd say no! This Strider here, he warns and he says take care; and I say and I say yes to that, and let's begin with him. He comes out of the Wild, and I never heard no good of such folk. He knows something, that's plain, and more than I like' but it's no reason why we should let them go leading us out into some dark place from he puts it. And what's more, he travels with a female who says naught of herself, so what happens when we're in afore mentioned dark place, and he runs off to have fun with a woman who's no better than she ought to be!"  
  
As Frodo, Sam, and Strider turned their eyes toward her, the woman stood gracefully, and dropped her hood and her cloak revealing black hair down past her shoulder blades and large green eyes. "Master Samwise," she said lightly, "why is it that I should speak in the presence of those who believe me to be a harlot and subject myself to further prejudice?" At this, Sam bent his head in shame, but the woman put her fingers under his chin and raised his face, gently saying, "and rest assured that I would neither whore myself to my father, nor would he take pleasure from his daughter!"  
  
Pippin fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. Strider did not reply to either comment, but turned his keen eyes on Frodo. "No," Frodo said slowly. "I don't agree. I think, I think you are not really as you choose to look. You began to talk to me like the Bree-folk, but your voice has changed. Still Sam seems right in this: I don't see why you should warn us to take care, and yet ask us to take you on trust. Why the disguise? Who are you? What do you really know about—about my business; and how do you know it?"  
  
"The lesson in caution has been well learned," said Strider with a grim smile. "But caution is one thing and wavering is another. You will never get to Rivendell now on your own, and to trust us is your only chance. You must make up your mind. I will answer some of your questions, if that will help you to do so. But why should you believe my story, if you do not trust me already? Still here it is—"  
  
At that moment there came a knock at the door, and Huntress and Strider swiftly withdrew into a dark corner. They listened intently as Butterbur gradually came to his point and gave Frodo a letter from three months ago. They sat in silence until Butterbur began to speak of Strider, at which point he came into the light, leaving Huntress to listen and gather information. She emerged as soon as the sound of Butterbur's footsteps faded.  
  
She stood by Strider as Frodo read the letter to himself, and then Pippin, and then Sam. "Really old Butterbur has made a mess of things!" he said. "He deserves roasting. If I had got this at once, we might all have been safe in Rivendell by now. But what can have happened to Gandalf? He writes as if he was going into great danger."  
  
"He has been doing that for many years," said Strider.  
  
Frodo turned and looked at him thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell me that you were Gandalf's friend at once?" he asked. "It would have saved time."  
  
"Would it? Would any of you have believed me till now?" said Strider. I knew nothing of this letter. For all I knew I had to persuade you to trust me without proofs, I was to help you. In any case, I did not intend to tell you all about myself at once. I had to study you first, and make sure of you. The Enemy has set traps for me before now. As soon as I had made up my mind, I was ready to tell you whatever you asked. But I must admit," he added with a queer laugh, "that I hoped you would take to me for my own sake. A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship. But there, I believe my looks are against me."  
  
"They are—at first sight at any rate," laughed Pippin with sudden relief after reading Gandalf's letter. "But handsome is as handsome does, as we say in the Shire; and I daresay we shall all look much the same after lying for days in hedges and ditches."  
  
Pippin subsided; but Sam was not daunted, and he still eyed Strider dubiously. "How do we know you are the Strider that Gandalf speaks about?" he demanded. "You never mentioned Gandalf, till this letter came out. You might be a play-acting spy, for all I can see, trying to get us to go with you. You might have done in the real Strider and took his clothes. What have you to say to that?"  
  
"That you are a stout fellow," answered Strider; "But I am afraid my only answer to you, Sam Gamgee, is this. If I had killed the real Strider, I could kill you. And I should have killed you already without so much talk. If I was after the Ring, I could have it—NOW!"  
  
He stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller, in his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. Throwing back his cloak, he laid his hand on the hilt of a sword that had hung concealed by his side as the woman sat watching, a small smile playing across her face. They did not dare to move. Sam sat wide-mouthed staring at him dumbly.  
  
"But I am the real Strider, fortunately," he said, looking down at them with his face softened by a sudden smile. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will."  
  
A/N: Thank you reviewers! Serni/Huntress will have a much larger part in the next chapter. This was a transition chapter, but we learn more about her in a bit. Thank you Sorceress of Rohan! Y'all, read her fic!  
  
Review! You know you want to! 


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